


wrong

by halcyonskies



Series: 100Themes: Dean/Cas [45]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Drunk Dean, Emotional Hurt, M/M, futuristic setting, i.e. there is technology that exists that can do the things mentioned in the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonskies/pseuds/halcyonskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could be argued that being alone would be better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wrong

**Author's Note:**

> 100Themes Challenge - #81: Clone

“Dean.”

He closed his eyes, forcing another mouthful down his throat – he didn’t know what it was anymore, just that it was strong and that it burned wonderfully going down. He’d passed the point of being buzzed a long time ago; now, he was well and truly wasted. Hopefully it’d be enough to send him into a numb, dreamless sleep.

_“Dean.”_ Castiel’s voice was quiet, desperate.

_Castiel._ Not Cas. He wasn’t Cas anymore.

Someone tried to wrestle the bottle out of his hand, but he turned away and took another healthy swig out of spite. Dean didn’t want to look up and meet those familiar blue eyes, not when he’d already realized they weren’t so familiar after all. That was the whole reason he was down here in the first place, laying on the kitchen floor with a slew of empty bottles scattered around him. He’d told himself before he’d started that the man standing so timidly in the threshold would probably look different after one or a dozen beers, but he knew the bottom of a bottle wouldn’t hold any new truths. Blackout drunk or not, the Castiel looking down at him with that lost expression would never be his husband.

“Please, Dean,” Castiel begged, sounding on the verge of tears. “I’m still _me._ I’m still _Cas,_ I’ve still got all my memories of us–”

The bottle that had previously been clutched in Dean’s fist shattered against the wall at Castiel’s shoulder in an explosion of sound, broken glass and liquid scattered on the kitchen tile. Dean heard a sob hitch in Castiel’s throat, and then the man fled. Not out the front door – not out of the house, like Dean so secretly hoped for in the meanest, darkest parts of his heart – but up the stairs, footsteps loud and stumbling in the otherwise silent atmosphere of their home.

Dean should have listened to Sam. He should have grieved for his husband and moved on. He should have listened to the doctor when she said the procedure might not produce identical results. At the time, he’d been so blinded by his need to see Cas again that he convinced himself it wouldn’t matter if the person that came out of the lab was a little different, not as long as he looked and acted the same, not as long as he was still Dean’s husband.

But they’d been right after all, and now Dean had to live with it.

 

 


End file.
